Outposts of Love

We have not yet met the outposts of love

We’re in those between days

sorta kinda sixty old

but not cataract crippled mind blank ninety old.

So in this interim

even though we still behave like toddlers

whining and crying for our own way sometimes,

I still love the shuffle of your slippers slapping

through the house,

your loud conversations on speaker phone with

god knows who,

the reheating of the tea kettle till it burns itself out.

Those are signs of you Here.

You always say good morning, hello, goodbye,

please and thank you,

You call me when it doesn’t seem necessary,

but all of these things make a life.

If they’re ever gone from me I want to at least know

that I noticed it all, was grateful for it all, and

recognized it for the beauty I could so easily overlook,

that I experienced and kissed to my heart, every day.